Stray
by Temeraria
Summary: A young Night Elf tries to avoid her duty and flees to the Gohstlands. Though, she does not foresee the raid the Horde planned for the small settlement she had found refuge in. Was this Elune's punishment?
1. Chapter 1

The gutting was okay, the killing was rather enjoyable; heck, even the constant fleeing was entertaining. The only thing that was completely dreadful would be bath time, when men and women would bathe in the same area; at the same time – with the same embarrassment. Elune knew just how many times the women flashed their privates at the unsuspecting men. And only Elune knew just how many raging erections were visible for the unsuspecting female. But, at least, they equally ignored each other, trying to act as if nothing was out of place. Unlike the figure that stood outside the water, hair matted with mud crust and blood streaks. She was downright filthy, but none of that bothered the druid, as filth was part of nature. And nature was-

"You reek like a rotting corpse, Laria. It's not like there's much to look at, anyway," Tholon, the one in charge of the camp, announced with a very professional tone. His eyes, though, betrayed his voice, as they lingered on her chest more than necessary. She snorted, taking a good whiff of her scent. Definitely not the scent of roses, but close enough… alright, maybe rotted roses. She was still not convinced of the bathing arrangements, but Tholon said that it was the 'safest' way.

Laria leaned back on the tree, untangling her filthy hair with her fingertip. The purple strands of hair were glued to each other, causing her fingers to get tangled up. She tried pulling her hand away, only to yank her hair in the process. "Oh, for the love of Elune…" she tugged harder, causing her head to jerk sideways. She gave out a hiss of annoyance, snaring the bathing members' attention. Soon, everyone was witnessing Laria's battle for dominance. She ended up on the ground hissing and spitting, rolling on the dirt, yanking her hair. The view would've been amusing, if not, downright hilarious; but Laria had the reputation of a Death Knight. Mess with her and pray you get out alive.

After several failed attempts, Laria simply laid there, feeling ridiculous. She slowly untangled her fingers, muttering curses under her breath. "Reconsidering that bath, Laria?" Tholon chuckled with open amusement. The male Night Elf had the reputation of a man-whore, but of course, none would say such thing out loud. Laria decided to avoid his question and leave the lake. She was in charge of patrolling the area, anyway. Horde was coming quite frequently, killing off any Alliance member that wandered more than 3 meters away from camp. Laria, although, was the only person –from very few- that was granted the liberty to go anywhere her heart desired; without leaving neutral grounds.

Trudging through mud and grime, Laria optioned to morph into her travel form. She decided against it, as hunters commonly mistook her as a stray lioness and tried to 'tame' her. She'd seen a good share of shocked faces; mostly when she morphed back to her normal self. Making a face of disgust, she masked herself with a feathery helm. The helmet possessed black splotches of dried blood, and it smelled just as bad as Laria's hair. Her hair was another matter altogether, as the once silky strands of hair were now dreadlocks of filth and grime. Her skin was coated with dust and mud, her boots doing no better. The camp's tailor shop owner had been killed by a rogue; only the blacksmith remained to amend the broken armor. It had been days since Laria had completed any kind of mission, and the closest bank was weeks away, at best. Short on money and filthy as a pig, Laria had no option than comply with Tholon's wishes and stay under the camp's hospitality. It didn't bother Laria that much, but the bathing schedule was something ludicrous.

Finding a remote clearing, Laria removed her heavy leather armor; leaving only her dagger. The Horde were a bunch of cowards that enjoyed ambushing the enemy, but they'd soon know that Laria was no simple traveler. She was a battle-experienced warrior that was fleeing from her duties, as the Priestess Whisperwind wanted to send her to Northrend. The druid excused herself, stating that she was pregnant. Maybe this unfortunate bathing arrangement was Elune's punishment? It did not matter anymore. Laria was not going to have it.

Patrolling was a very boring duty, as rogues were practically shadows and hunters made sure to veer away from the alliance camp. Even the filthy scourge would stay away from the camp. But, they stalked the lake, picking out any individual that wanted to take a short bath. After twenty five unfortunate casualties, Tholon decided to ban any person to bathe alone. No matter how much Laria argued, Tholon was not going to have it. He just wanted to see her strip and get an erection. Laria was disgusted with his antics, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. He'd die if he had to die, but for now, he was harmless.

A contempt sigh escaped her parted lips, as she settled against a tree. The forest around her started to hum a soft melody, one which she was accustomed to hear back in Darnassus. At that same moment, a feeling of home sickness engulfed her whole being. She wanted to go back to the magical forest and whisper to the trees. Nature was more alive back in her homeland, much more pure; over here, they were quiet and dead. No matter how much she tried to listen, all she heard were wails. Nature's songs lost their charm and struck nothing but sadness in her heart. She tried to heal the trees sorrowful soul, but found that it was useless. Only the trees back in her homeland would maintain their true essence, while the rest lost themselves in shadows.

_Crack._

What a moron. Laria immediately shifted forms, turning into a slender feline with purple fur. Her silver orbs gleamed with anticipation, the trees growing silent. She scanned her surroundings, finding that everything was normal and quiet – odd. Nothing was out of place, the scent of mud and moist the same as before. At that moment, she felt like a fool, but still uneasy. That's when she heard the screams. If she weren't in her cat form, she would've never heard them. She thanked Mother Nature for warning her, whilst sprinting towards the main camp.

Not even a minute had passed and Laria was able to foresee her destination. Death's scent infested her sensitive nostrils, causing vile to go up her throat. She pressed onward, running as fast as her limbs could. Flames could be seen ahead, clouds of thick smoke drifting into the orange sky. Quick pants –caused by lack of breath- escaped her muzzle. She skidded to a halt, almost tripping over a familiar looking body. Tholon's dead orbs were wide open, blood trickling down his parted lips.

The camp was a blazing inferno; bodies unceremoniously sprawled across the ground. Laria saw a human female dart out of a burning tent, only to die in the hand of a troll. The sight was horrifying, for a lack of description. The stench of blood was enough to make Laria stagger, but the scent of Horde made her fur bristle with hate.

With practiced ease, Laria nimbly leaped over Tholon's corpse; silently giving him a prayer in Elune's name. She charged towards the closest enemy who happened to be a wounded Orc. Her claws raked across its neck, causing a stream of blood to gush out. With a strangled scream, the Orc collapsed on the ground. Feeling no remorse, the druid sprang towards the troll that killed the innocent woman. With a blink of an eye, her fangs were ripping off its head.

_Kill them._

She swiftly turned around, coming face to face with a Tauren. The beast was twice the size of Laria, causing a ripple of fear go down her spine. She took a step back, nearly tripping over the corpse of a child. Her blood boiled with hate once again, causing her haunches to push her forward. Her claws came in contact with the Tauren's thick skin, but that did not stop her. A mace came in contact with her shoulder blade, dislocating it. Still, she clawed the Tauren's throat with wild ferocity, ripping its skin apart. Soon, another corpse joined the others.

Pain seared through her chest and she collapsed on the ground, thrashing wildly. Magic -dark magic- had infested her system, and her cat form was not able to ward it off. She tried to shift back to her rightful self, but felt her magic start to get sucked from her. This Warlock was experienced, as her system started to crash with startling speed. She gasped, hissed and roared with agony, trying to find the source of her pain. She spotted a Blood Elf standing less than a meter from her. She tried to stand, but collapsed when another wave of pain coursed through her body. The Warlock possessed high knowledge in magic, as he quickly removed any specks of magic that Laria might've had in her body.

When the Warlock approached Laria, she noticed that the man was carrying a bow. She was confused by this, as Warlock's did not go around carrying bows. It was then she noticed that the Blood Elf was actually a hunter. She hissed at his feet, too weak to put up a fight. More bodies surrounded her, most of them Blood Elves. Laria thought of herself as delirious, as she estimated their rank to be as high as hers. What were such people doing in this lesser place?

No questions were answered, as she drifted into a painful nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

Laria had never found herself in such an awkward situation. She had woken up with a mild headache, while her whole body protested against any kind of movement; her right shoulder, above all. Not only that, but her bladder was demanding relief, one she was not able to offer at that moment. Her neck had some kind of collar attached around it, and her paws were tied to each other, long enough for a short stretch; but no more. She was lying on her left side –something she was grateful for- and everything was deathly silent. Laria was secluded from the rest of her abductors, the fire's heat unable to reach her chilled body. The air carried the stench of the scourge, and she feared that they had ventured too far into the vile forest.

She tried to move, but her bladder wailed in protest. She could not move, without risking the chance of taking a piss on herself. But, did it matter? She was tied and her shoulder was searing with pain; her magic levels were startling low, as well. And just like that, Laria decided to give her bladder some relief. She curled up, enjoying the sensation of warmth that suddenly engulfed the lower half of her body. It was ridiculously cold, and Laria had no intentions of dying with hypothermia. The smell was something she would have to deal with, but it made no difference. She already reeked of filth, and piss would make no difference. In the long run, it was better; actually. Her abductors would have to be around her and suffer under her stink. Yes, peeing on herself had never been so gratifying.

But, as many plans, she had forgotten the consequences. After she reveled in the warmth of her own pee, she felt the temperature drop and everything was suddenly freezing again; even more than before. She hissed with displeasure, trying to understand _what the hell_ just happened. Laria tried to drag herself away from the puddle she'd created with her urges, but found her paws to be useless. At that same time a body stirred, less than 4 feet away from her. Growing desperate and cold, she huffed and clawed at a tree root. It made no difference, and now her lower half was drenched in pee and mud; pee-mud.

The body that was near her awoke, and she was shocked to see that it was some kind of zombie. _An Undead,_ she corrected herself, trying to figure out what smelled worse; her own scent, or the man's rotting flesh. She was about to come with a conclusion, when the undead started to cackle like a maniac. Soon, every horde member that was present stirred awake; some even unsheathed their weapons. They all glared at the undead warrior, which was laughing like a maniac. His index finger pointed at Laria with accusation, and she felt her tail twitch with indignation. He was laughing at her.

It wasn't long before more laughter joined the chorus of mockery, some of them approaching Laria to witness her small 'accident.' They hollered words at her, most of them sounding like cackles which made no sense. Laria kept a straight face, staring at them as if they were all insane. Peeing was natural, what was wrong with that? Still, the abominations –except the Blood Elves, they were quite charming- laughed at her. All she could do was stare at them.

Then they started to spit on her, and this time Laria did react. A roar of disgust ripped through her throat, as she tried to squirm away from her aggressors. The undead warrior approached her, and she hissed at him in a dangerous way. He ignored her warnings and gave her a kick in the ribs. Before she could even blink, she was being pelted with kicks and punches. She was helpless, and she hated it. The only thing she could hear were hollering voices and foreign words.

A voice barked above the others, and their constant attacks came to a sudden halt. Everything was eerily quiet, the only thing audible were Laria's ragged breaths. Her headache had erupted into a migraine, her shoulder throbbing with ever-growing pain. She couldn't twitch; as such action would inflict enormous amounts of pain in her bruised body.

How much could her cat form take? She was not sure. She'd been in her cat form for a week, at most. Her body had its limits, and being in certain animal form had its risks. First, she would relapse back to her primal instincts; then, she'd lose her memory. At that exact moment, revenge was boiling inside her guts, but she knew better than to disobey those who were stronger. These were her instincts speaking, and she hated it. Her rational self was losing its battle for dominance. If her magic levels were not stabilized in the next week or so; she'll lose her rational side altogether and those were risks she was not willing to take.

_Be patient,_ she reminded herself. But patience is what she lacked most, and she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. After the blood elf spoke, the rest left her and scattered away. Laria did not bother to see what they were doing; instead, she pitifully laid there. For a second, she considered suicide, but pushed away the thought. She would not give in, and anyway, in her cat form, such thing would prove hard to accomplish. Feeling more pathetic than ever, she decided that dying wasn't such a horrible option. There were a vast amount of things that were more terrible than death. The thought alone made her tremble with disgust.

Whispers sliced through the silence that comforted her. Laria didn't bother in listening, as they spoke in orcish. Heartbeats later, the hunter Blood Elf approached her. He squatted down to her level, an emotion like pity gleaming in his green orbs. He glanced at her from head to tail, clicking his tongue. He muttered things under his breath, and for a moment she thought he was speaking Darnassian.

Swiftly, he straightened up, glancing at the nearest being he could find. Barking some gibberish, a troll lamely walked towards Laria. This time she was going to put up a fight. So, when the troll tried to lift her up –while baring his tusks in disgust- Laria tried to claw his nose. She received a smack on the head, and was promptly thrown sideways. She wailed in agony, her right shoulder making contact with the ground. Whimpers soon followed, such as snickers that came from her enemy. The only person that did not utter a word was the hunter, who watched Laria with an assessing look. She quickly snarled at him, baring her fangs for all to see. Soon, they forced her to her stand and walk. They rode mounts, while she struggled to keep up with three functioning limbs. She took four steps and exhaustion soon took a toll on her tired system. Laria could already foresee the journey before her.

* * *

After travelling for an endless amount of distance, Laria was not able to continue. She stubbornly stopped walking, a tiny amount of her magic back in her system. She could sense the Blood Elves stare at her with hungry eyes, craving for more magic; but the hunter would not let any of them touch her. He was adamant with this, as an argument had ensured when a female Blood Elf tried to suck Laria's magic. For this, she was grateful, but she still hated the man. The reasons behind her capture were still a mystery, and the language barrier was not helping.

The troll tried to yank Laria to her feet, but she simply sat there. Her shoulder had begun to heal quickly, even more when magic was poured over it; but it was still misplaced. She would have to shift back to her human self and fix it, but then she'd be jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. They would undoubtedly try to take advantage of her, this she was sure of. They couldn't torture her for information, as none spoke Darnassian – to her knowledge.

The undead warrior dismounted its rotten mount, approaching Laria with agitated steps. She tensed, flinching from the pain it caused her shoulder. A blink passed and she was being lifted by the walking corpse. The stench of rotting flesh infested her snout and she hacked relentlessly. The undead ignored her, tying her to his mount. Laria was spitting, hissing and snorting with noticeable disgust. The warrior grabbed an extra strip of cloth, shutting her trap.

They continued their journey with glee.


	3. Chapter 3

Downright impressive, that was the first thought the crossed Laria's mind once she regained consciousness. She was still tied down to the undead's mount, and everything around her had the stench of death; but for some reason, all of that did not matter. Her eyes were transfixed on the forest that surrounded her, the presence of magic more than attention-grabbing. The blood elves looked relieved, unlike the undead, which would look around expecting a surprise attack.

Laria stiffly rolled her head sideways, trying to see where they were heading at. The excruciating pain her right shoulder emitted was more than she could bear, and a low growl of pain erupted from her throat. They paid her little attention, unlike the blood elf hunter, who halted the moving platoon. Confused with his antics, Laria decided that silence was the best alternative. Her cat form was becoming a bother, and rationality was slowly vanishing.

The hunter untied her with quick jerks, causing her shoulder a bit of pain. Thinking about her wound made her grow worried sick, seeing that not receiving proper medical attention could leave her crippled. Panic tore her heart open, and the forest's calming presence did nothing to calm her growing anguish.

She tried to run away, or limp, only to be stopped by the rope that was fastened around her neck. Then, the hunter soothingly petted her matter fur with gloved hands. She hissed and tried to slash his sides, but stopped when it caused her more pain. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and her tongue was dry with thirst. The hunter immediately noticed, unclasping a water flask. He offered her the refreshment, but she merely stared at it. Understanding, he stashed away the precious liquid, only to take out an apple. This time, Laria had no option than to laugh; the noise sounded like she was growling, but the hunter was able to identify the sound.

What came next was more surprising, as a large feline approached Laria. The power that emanated from the feline was not ignored, and Laria felt strangely intimidated. For a moment, she wondered if this stray creature had randomly decided to have a chat with her, but clarity dawned upon her.

"_You should eat,"_ the creature spoke the tongue of beasts, one the druid could fluidly speak. Certainly, this had to be the hunter's pet, for such creature would not be able to obtain such power from the wilderness itself.

Laria shook her head with reluctance, a twinge of relief overcoming uncertainty. _"I cannot eat anything but meat, in this form of mine,"_ her brief explanation was accepted with a quick nod. The hunter quickly placed a hand on top of its pet, closing his eyes in concentration. Everyone was silent, the other horde members speaking in hushed voices and low whispers. The blood elf opened his eyes, a sense of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

He offered the apple at Laria again, and took out a slice of meat. The druid sniffed the delicious object that dangled from his hand, and tried to snatch it away from him. He did multiple clicks with his tongue, stashing the meat away; instead, he offered her the apple again. She snarled at the hunter, baring her fangs. He smiled kindly at her, causing Laria to stare at him with confusion. He gingerly touched her swollen shoulder and shook his head, and then he pointed at the apple.

He wanted her to shape shift. He wanted her to go back to her human form. _"Tell that master of yours that I'll do no such thing!"_ her roar echoed through the forest, her fur bristling with defiance. The orcs merely glanced at her, continuing with their idle chatter. The feline pet simply shook its head with annoyance. Laria then decided she could somehow gain something from this; like an exchange of some sort.

"_Very well. I'll change back, only if he takes me to a lake,_" her conditions were essentially selfish, but she did not fuss over it. Her cat form was very nice and everything, but the side effects were starting to make her gain a headache. And she did not want to shift back and stink like an undead. The beast immediately nodded, giving his master a knowing glance. For a moment, Laria wondered if the hunter knew what her demands were, but instead of linking himself with his pet; the hunter simply followed, pulling the druid along.

She nimbly followed, her limp making her graceful moves look less fluid. She did not mind this, for her tail flickered from side to side with content. At last, she would be able to take a bath without half the world looking. Being in cat form sure had its perks, as she could do most things that required nudity in her human form. The hunter simply glanced at her with a questioning gaze, before settling his sight on his pet.

Finally, they reached a small pond. Her paws were greeted with icy water, but she paid the temperature no mind. Plunging into the frozen water, she relished the cold feeling. She stayed near the edge of the water, giving her fur all the desperate attention it craved for. After a good amount of time, her fur was finally shiny with cleansing and freshness.

The hunter was sitting on a nearby boulder, keeping watch on her. She found the idea of fleeing comical, as her shoulder would restraint most of her movements. Giving the hunter a bemused look, she decided that shape shifting was a requirement. Not being one of wasting time, she summoned the power of nature, and felt her body start to change.

Her fur started to grow longer, her purple hair making it known once again. Her linen clothes dislodged itself from her skin, as her paws grew opposable thumbs. The hunter was dumbstruck, his jaw slack. His pet was startled, even more when they noticed the towering height she seemed to posses.

Laria stood there, wincing at the pain that came from her shoulder. Being in her natural form was relieving, and she felt like screaming until her newly acquired vocal chords ripped apart. Her hands flexed automatically, feeling empty without a weapon to hold.

"You…" the druid turned to the hunter, her silver eyes shining with amazement. He could speak Darnassian? She was not sure, and if he did, she wished otherwise. "You… are wounded?" his accent was heavy, but the sound of his voice soothed her in ways she could not explain. Hunters had a way around beasts, and being in her cat form might've influenced her mind more than she desired.

"My shoulder," she glanced down at her right shoulder, grimacing at the black bruise that was visible. "It's dislocated," her voice hinted disapproval, her eyes looking up at the hunter once again. Silence stretched between them, until she took note of the confusion on the blood elf's face. Her eyes narrowed; just how much Darnassian did he know?

"My name is Laria," she hesitated, "what's yours?"

Voices could be heard from far away, and Laria visibly tensed. Orcish resonated from the trees, and Laria backed away as a reflex, noting with shock (and admonishing herself for not noticing earlier) that her legs weren't incapacitated and that she was capable of walking without a burdening limp. In her elf form, her shoulder would not prove to be an obstacle if she ran. No hesitation came into her mind as she darted towards the forest's foliage; her feet nimbly leaping over broken branches and torn bushes.

But she soon found herself sprinting towards Elune-knew-where, her pursuers gaining on her by each passing second. She could hear the horde's mounts, her panic growing. She could not shape shift, as her shoulder would immediately slow her down. She didn't even know the terrain, and she was too frantic to listen the aiding whispers of the tries. Instead, she ran as much as she could, trying to place obstacles between her and her pursuers. All her effort went to waste, when a huge bird blocked her path, it's shrill startling Laria more than it should. Weaponless and frightened, the druid darted to her left, trying to take another path. She took two more steps, before the ground crumbled under her weight and she felt a sudden gust of wind buffet her face.

Laria let out an earsplitting scream, as she pummeled towards her own demise. Her arms tried to grab anything and everything. She kept screaming until the water engulfed her sight and lungs. Her battle against the current ended in defeat, her attempts at swimming or shape-shifting into her aquiline form unsuccesful. Nothing worked. And, as the world lost its vibrant colors and darkness overwhelmed her panicked senses, Laria begged Elune for forgiveness with frenzied thoughts.


End file.
